


Together We Are

by igrab



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series, Star Trek: The Original Series (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-10
Updated: 2014-05-10
Packaged: 2018-01-24 06:51:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1595618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/igrab/pseuds/igrab
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn't their first Christmas on the Enterprise, but it was their first Christmas together, and Jim wanted things to be perfect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Together We Are

**Author's Note:**

> written for ksadvent on LJ in 2009. takes place before and during The Motion Picture.

It wasn't their first Christmas on the Enterprise, but it was their first Christmas together, and Jim wanted things to be perfect. 

"Bones," he stage-whispered, flicking his eyes around even though he knew well enough that the sickbay was deserted. 

Leonard McCoy rolled his eyes. "Whatever it is, the answer's no, Jim."

He smiled, pretended he hadn't heard. "I need to get a present for Spock."

"So get a present for Spock. Why the hell are you asking me, Jim? I give the worst presents." Well, he gave the best presents, actually, but they were almost always alcohol-related and not very creative. And, you know, not exactly the best present for a Vulcan lover.

Jim sighed, and Leonard knew why he was here. Jim didn't need his advice - god knows he never listened to it, anyway - but he needed a sounding board, he needed to talk his way through this. He needed a friend. And, well, that's what his Bones was here for. "It's got to be something simple. Meaningful. But nothing permanent," and he knew what _that_ meant, too, and it worried him much more than his friend's holiday distress.

Leonard didn't know if it was fear, or uncertainty, or maybe this time it was too good to be true. He'd known Jim for a long time, seen him through the worst and the best of all of his relationships, but never had he been so worked up about the simplest things, so determined for things to be 'right'. But then, he'd never been in love with a Vulcan before. Hell, Leonard was pretty darn sure he'd never really been in _love_ , not like this. He'd never seen such blatant emotion in his eyes, even right there on the bridge when he _should_ be thinking about work. So maybe he knew the answer, already. Maybe he was just frustrated that Jim could go on pretending that this would't last forever.

Spock had it bad. That was even more obvious, if possible. Spock would go to hell and back for Jim, and that kind of devotion was the sort of thing that didn't quantify into a normal perspective of 'relationship'. Spock knew that, and Leonard knew that Spock knew. If he were in Spock's place - and may God strike me down if that ever happened, Leonard thought with not a small amount of good-natured cynicism - he'd've already made a big stupid mess of confessing his undying love, and Jim would've panicked and run away, so maybe it was a good thing that Spock was so reserved about it, so Vulcan, so willing to accept this discrepancy in their perception of how things stood.

But then, Leonard thought, if you loved someone so hard that nothing else mattered, maybe it would be all right. Just to be there, however you were wanted, maybe that was the important part.

"Maybe you should get 'im a teddy bear," Leonard cooed, all gooey and sweet, remembering the story that Spock's mother - Amanda, that was her name, lovely lady - had told them about their dear Vulcan's pet sehlat. Jim snorted with laughter, and pushed at Leonard's shoulders.

"No, I'll save that for Valentine's Day," he said, and the confidence in his voice surprised him, for his eyes widened just the slightest bit. He was quick to recover, smiling right on over it, but Leonard wondered what would happen if Jim could see himself from the outside, if he could realize how it looked. How transparent he was, and how easy it was to see the rhythm of his heart, and Spock's name, scribbled in between every beat.

❄

"...It is beautiful," Spock said, and it was so rare that he used illogical words that Jim grasped his shoulder, as if making sure that he wasn't just an illusion. Spock gave an amused quick of the eyebrow at that.

"Well, it's - I noticed you don't have any clothes besides your Starfleet uniform, that's all." He always had the feeling, when he was alone with Spock, that he was talking too much. He knew it was most likely just that Spock spoke so sparingly, and carefully, that Jim felt the need to overcompensate and spill over into all the little remaining silences. "And, you know, we're only required to be in uniform while on duty, and we have shore leave scheduled soon, and..." He trailed off, though, as Spock's fingers toughed the hem of the shirt, fingering the fabric with a delicacy and reverence that he'd only ever seen on his own skin. It made his insides do a slow, twisting lurch, as the room narrowed down to the soft Vulcan faux-leather, in a purple so dark it was nearly black, passing under the sensitive pads of Spock's fingers. "....Do you like it?"

Spock cocked an eyebrow at him, _honestly_. Jim loved that, loved how they didn't _need_ words, sometimes. "Were you aware, that this is my - "

" - Favorite color? Yes." His cheeks warmed at the gratitude in Spock's eyes, and he skittered away, bundling up more words to fill the vacuum. "I didn't know, I mean, I always see you in blue, but I've never known, so I called your mother, and she told me..." He trailed off, as the expressions on Spock's face shifted rapidly from surprise to annoyance to fond resignation. To anyone else, the changes would've been imperceptible.

"I should not be surprised that you have been in contact with my mother." There was an amused quirk at the corner of his eyes, and he still hadn't let go of the shirt, hadn't stopped petting it like a Tribble. "You know, I could bring up the same complaint regarding _your_ wardrobe."

Jim looked about him theatrically, in a classic 'who, me?' expression. "I have another shirt," he muttered, defensively.

"Your green shirt does not count, as it is also Starfleet issue." As Jim opened his mouth to protest, however, Spock held up a hand to silence him. "I think that perhaps you had better open your present."

He did, and something literally poured out from under a layer of tissue paper, to pool in his lap. He felt his jaw about to drop and close it tight, but if he hadn't, it just may have hit the floor. The fabric was a dark, shimmering green, laced through with gold - a jungle green, with more blue than his aforementioned shirt. He lifted it in his fingers but it kept slipping, and he couldn't find where one bit began and ended.

He laughed, startled. "Where does it - "

"Here." Spock stood, and in a moment, had stripped Jim of his Captain's shirt and found the opening in the new one. He shivered as it slid over his bare skin - and shuddered, the feeling deliciously like slipping into clean sheets with no clothes on. All told, it was a simple garment - it wrapped around and tied at the waist, and over the shoulders - but it pulled the fabric into ripples, and even before he looked in the mirror he knew that it was hugging every curve of his body. 

"How did you..." but he trailed off, as he understood. Spock, however, chose to answer the implicit question.

"I contacted my mother for advice on what to get you. She was very helpful," and that little grin was becoming more and more of a smirk, "and I can see what her inspiration might have been." He turned Jim in his hands, until they were both facing the mirror, and he watched as Spock slid out of his own shirt and into the new one. It was in the Vulcan style, high-collared with diagonal seams, and when he reappeared to slim his arms around his Captain and hold him tight for the mirror's eyes, anyone could tell that the shirts had been made to fit together like this, angles and fluidity, opposites attracting.

It was wonderful, but it made something in his heart freeze, like a bird in the headlamps of an aircar. Something wild and free, feeling the terror of impending doom.

❄

"You coming?" Leonard paused at the door, eyebrows raised, already judging. Already promising to drag him if he had to, all the way down the hall and into a shuttle and halfway across the city to the annual Starfleet officer's holiday. Knowing he wouldn't want to go. Knowing that celebrating was the last thing on his mind right now.

"You go," Jim muttered, not even attempting to sound lighthearted anymore.

"Jim-"

"I'll catch up with you."

"Jim." His voice was softer, now, and there was too much emotion in it, too much for Jim's fragile, shallow heart on today of all days. "You can't keep doing this."

"I will, I'll be there, I promise."

" _Jim_."

He shrank back from the piercing eyes of his best friend, and for a long time, they just stood there, the apartment shadows bending between them and making the distance between them grow. It had already been months since Leonard had last called, and months since Jim had closed the communicator, not because he was overwhelmed, but because he didn't know what to say. What was there to say? He was fine? He was extant? The facts hadn't changed. He wasn't living, and he didn't want to.

"I'll see ya 'round, Jim." There was a hopeless sort of flippancy in his voice, and that's what cut the worst - that he wasn't going to force him, that he was done pushing and pushing and pushing. He was giving up, and while it hurt, he knew it was nothing more than what he deserved. No one should have to put up with a hopeless case like Jim Kirk.

The door closed behind him, and he couldn't even bring himself to feel bad about it.

It had been over a year now.

He needed to stop thinking that it had been too long. He needed to stop thinking of this as something temporary, like it was all a big joke. He needed to face up to a reality he'd been trying to avoid all year long.

Spock wasn't coming back. Not _here_ , not to Jim, to his bed and his heart and his nonexistent starship. That was a priviledge he - Jim, not Spock - had lost.

Last year, it had been too close to the cut yet, too new to fester and scar with time and grounding. The stars were still in his eyes, even if Spock wasn't there to see them, and for all that his head knew why he'd left, his heart was still convinced it was all just a dream.

So he'd gone to the party. Eaten. Drank. Danced. Talked. But he did not flirt, and he did not laugh.

Now, he sat in his living room with an ancient record player and listened to his favorite carols, as the sun went down and the stars winked in over the bay.

At midnight, he called Amanda.

He hadn't meant to, in all honesty. He'd dialed Spock's home number because he couldn't help himself, fully intending to hang up when he heard Sarek's brusque, uncaring greeting, reminding him that even his voice wasn't welcome there.

But instead, there was a delicate pause, and then, with an almost audible smile, he heard, "Merry Christmas, dear."

He didn't know what to say. He _couldn't_ say anything, emotion had gripped him by the throat and wasn't letting him _think_ , let alone speak.

"...Amanda?"

"Yes, that's my name."

He laughed, and it was such an unfamiliar sound that it surprised him. "I... I'm sorry, I should-"

"Please don't go," she murmured quietly, and there was something in her voice that stuck and held. He gripped his communicator a little tighter.

"What can I do for you, ma'am," he teased, gently.

She laughed, and he knew it had probably been a long time for her, as well. Especially on Vulcan. "It's so nice to chat with someone who's familiar with the holiday."

So they talked about Christmas, and traditions they'd grown up with, and really, some things never changed. She talked about celebrating on Vulcan, despite Sarek's reluctance, and Jim talked about the mayhem of 'Secret Santa' on the _Enterprise_. Neither of them mentioned Spock.

"I should let you get to sleep," Jim finally said, when Amanda cut herself off with a yawn.

"Oh, probably," she murmured, amused and fond, but neither of them hung up for a long half a minute, just resting in the companionable silence.

"....I wish I could tell him how sorry I am," he said suddenly into the silence, like a penny dropping into a still fountain.

"For what?"

It was strange, to him. So strange, that someone so close to Spock wouldn't know, that anyone in the whole galaxy didn't know what he'd done - that he'd all but forced Spock into undergoing the Kohlinahr, a drastic and ancient practice of total emotional erasure, far beyond normal levels of suppression. It was usually only a last resort, in the face of extreme emotional trauma.

And, well. That had been Jim's fault, of course.

"He didn't tell you anything about why he came back, did he?"

"Not a word." Amanda didn't _sound_ all too torn up about it, but Jim knew better. After all, Spock hadn't gotten his insatiable curiosity from his father.

"...I guess you could say I was having some... commitment issues." He frowned in the darkness of the room, and rubbed his fingers over the rough knit of the homemade blanket spread across his knees. Spock's, he realized suddenly. A gift, from the very person he was talking to. "Everyone says that it was - I mean, there were a lot of women. I didn't keep track."

Amanda, thankfully, was silent through this. 

"...But it wasn't _about_ that, I mean, it was, but it was mostly because I was terrified." He was babbling, he knew he was babbling but he couldn't make himself stop. "I'd had relationships before. I'd - but it never lasted, and I'd never felt that way about anyone and I didn't know what to do with myself. And he didn't know, either, it was so new to him that he thought it was normal so he just let all of his resentment and jealousy and despair build up like water behind a dam." In a way, what he hated most was that he should've known. He knew Spock better than anyone, and they'd been together too long for him to claim that Spock was too good at hiding his emotions to tell. He didn't blame him in the slightest.

"And then it broke," Amanda said, quietly.

"Yes." 

There was another long, deep silence, stretching out into the night. Jim could almost see Amanda, perhaps in a window seat like his own, looking out at the sky toward the Sol system just like he was hunting for Keid.

"I left Sarek once," came the distant mutter, like her thoughts were as far as Jim was. 

He, on the other hand, snapped right back to reality at those words. He'd never heard about that, though admittedly Spock was tight-lipped about his childhood. "Did you really?"

"Mmm. He did something I still, to this day, consider inexcusable." Now her voice had a warm mirth, despite the words she was saying. "I flat out told him, I can't imagine living with you any longer. I can't imagine looking you in the face and calling you husband."

All right, well, he could see Amanda _saying_ that, but it was hard to reconcile with what he'd seen of the strength of her love for her husband and son. "What did he..."

"It's a story for another time. To be quite honest, it was considerably worse than what you've done, and you've shown a great deal more contrition about it than he ever has." Now there was a wry weariness, the humor of the willing sufferer.

"Spock doesn't know," Jim whispered, to the sky. "When he left I - I was still convinced that I'd done nothing wrong, that it was all his fault. There's so much I want to apologize for."

Silence. Jim wondered if there was snow, on the top of Mount Seleya.

"You will."

Jim blinked, startled. "What?"

"Relationships take work. And time." He didn't even know they still had a relationship. It'd taken him long enough to realize that they'd ever had one.

"But - it's over. I mean, he's going through kohlinahr, and that's that. I'm... I won't even see him again."

"With that kind of attitude, perhaps not," she remarked dryly, and she sounded so much like him, just for a moment. Jim felt his heart twist in his chest. 

"I should go."

"You'll have your chance, Jim. I can feel it."

"Merry Christmas, Mrs. Sarek." He couldn't. He needed to stop this, stop hoping. It was only going to make everything worse.

She pursed her lips, and Jim felt the echo of a sigh he couldn't hear. "Merry Christmas, Captain."

He opened his mouth to correct her - he was an admiral now. But she had already terminated the connection.

❄

When he came into the house, on his way to the shuttle bay - just passing through, passing through for clothes and his ID and something to eat - his mother caught him by the shoulder, and even that simple touch nearly made him jump. He'd almost forgotten what it felt like to be around humans. He was going to have to do better than that.

"Spock," she said, in that tone of voice that made it impossible to ignore her. "Oh, Spock. Let me at least look at you for a minute."

He let her. The mild discomfort and unease was easy to ignore. The emotion brimming in her eyes stirred something in his depths, but it was easy to push it away. "Mother, I do not have much time."

"You're leaving?"

He pulled away from her eyes and began walking towards his room, certain that it would have remained unchanged. Amanda followed. He did not falter.

"There is an entity approaching Earth. The _Enterprise_ will undoubtedly be sent to investigate it, and I must - what is it?"

She wasn't looking at him, rather, she wasn't looking him in the eye, but slightly to the left, just behind his ear. The corners of his lips twitched downwards, as he waited for a response.

"...Your hair."

 _Yes, it exists_ , he thought, in what may have once been irritation. Perhaps, if he said nothing, she would continue and make a little more sense.

...

Apparently, two could play at that game. He suppressed a sigh and raised an eyebrow instead. "What is it in particular about my hair that captures your attention?"

"You're not seriously going out to the _Enterprise_ with your hair like _that_ , are you?"

"I confess it had not crossed my mind in the slightest." He finally stepped into his room and slid out of his heavy robes, looking for something servicable to wear. "...Mother, where is my flightsuit."

"In the wash." She sounded cross, and he couldn't for the life of him understand why. If she had a concern, he'd hope that she would be a little more explicit about it. "You're not wearing it, it's sinfully ugly, and you're still off active duty. Wear this instead." 

He was well aware of the contents of his wardrobe, and knew instantly that this had not previously been a part of it. The material was a rich black velvet, the decorative script caught in silver, and the undershirt was a purple silk so thin it was nearly weightless. It must have cost a small fortune. "I cannot accept this," he stated, releasing his hold on the edge of one bell-shaped sleeve. 

"It's a present, Spock." She raised an eyebrow, daring him to contest her further. "A Christmas present, and you're going to wear it. If you don't, I will put it on you myself."

"It is not Christmas," but he was already picturing it, imagining what it would be like to sweep onto the bridge of the Enterprise, confident, Vulcan, glittering and in control. It was more than just layers of silk and velvet - it was armor. 

"Consider it repayment for all the ones I've missed," she said quietly, but she knew now that he understood. He didn't need to know that it was an Admiral's premium that had paid for the materials and design, and that the Surakian proverb used in the script was of his choosing.

  
_Ma etek natyan teretuhr lau etek shetau weh-lo'uk do tum t'on._  
We have differences. May we, together, become greater than the sum of both of us.

❄

This time, he didn't need to ask anyone what to get Spock for Christmas. He already knew.

He wrapped it in gold and silver paper, and spent an undue amount of time with a pair of scissors, making sure the curls in the bow were nice and tight, and he had to go out in the middle of the night because he wanted to write the card in purple ink. He still, after all this time, wanted things to be perfect.

The difference is that he knew that they already were. No matter what present he got (though he had a feeling this one would be well-received), no matter how he wrapped it or whether or not the lights on the tree matched or how many girls he danced with at the Officer's ball (which was plenty, since Jim Kirk was a good dancer and a great big dashing hero, having just saved the world), the 'perfectity level' of this Christmas would in no way depend on anything that actually occurred during it.

(Spock had argued that perfectity was not a word. Leonard had told him to go stuff it. Spock had asked where. Jim had attained nirvana out of sheer absurd joy.)

They woke up on the couch, of all places, with Amanda's badly-knitted blanket draped over their tangled limbs and completely failing to do its sworn duty to keep their feet warm. Jim attempted to stretch, but he'd somehow ended up on the bottom, and Spock was about twelve feet of solid muscle (or at least, that's what it felt like). He pushed, and pulled, and finally just laughed, because he was uncomfortable and he had to pee and he was way too old for this, but he was _happy_.

Spock opened one eye, then the other. His brows knit slightly as he worked out the thought processes reconciling 'fell asleep on the couch' and 'laughing Jim'. It was not altogether a pleasant conclusion. "I am... stiff," he said, and abruptly lost his balance and tumbled off onto the shag carpeting of Jim's apartment.

Jim was still chuckling to himself as he sat up and stretched, fond hazel eyes following the back of Spock's head, where some of his hair was sticking up. "I bet." He smiled, as the Vulcan simply untangled himself and laid on on his stomach. He loved seeing Spock like this, so completely at home with himself that he didn't even think about what he was doing. "Merry Christmas, Spock."

He shifted just enough to be able to look Jim in the eye, and though his mouth was buried in the tufts of carpeting, his eyes danced with a now-familiar Vulcan smile. "I do not believe I can accurately describe this holiday so far as being 'merry'," he began, while Jim began laughing again. "Though... it is... that is to say, I am very happy."

The laughter quieted, and Jim's eyes widened, gold-bright in the slanting morning sun. "You are? Really? But you haven't even opened your present yet."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "I assumed, from our apparent lack of clothing, that I already had."

And that set Kirk laughing again, and he slid down off the couch to fish the gold-and-silver present from a collection they'd gathered at the ball. It was a flat, rectangular box, longer and thinner than a sheet of paper, and only several inches thick. Spock rolled to his side and cocked an eyebrow, then deftly undid the paper. Jim's smile turned smug as he watched how carefully Spock set aside the box, and the card, and how his fingers lingered on the corners.

"Go on," he murmured. "Open it."

Inside was a sash, or perhaps a scarf - a bright, vibrant purple, hemmed in gold, with hand-stitched embroidery of the same Surakian passage that adorned Spock's favorite jacket. The astonishment on his face was genuine, the emotion so blatant that even Jim was floored, relatively speaking. He was, of course, already on the floor. 

"You-"

"Looked up Vulcan marriage rites," Jim answered, before he finished the question. 

"And-"

"Found out what your family colors were."

"And you-"

"Had the sash made personally."

"But-" Spock's voice was sticking in his throat, anyway, and it was actually the first time that Jim had seen him speechless, that wasn't under coercion.

"...And I even asked your father for permission."

 _That_ snapped him out of it, and one eyebrow flew up. "You actually asked the Ambassador if you could - " Oh, no, there it was, back again.

Jim grinned, enchanted. "He said he approved."

Spock exhaled through his nose, which was a sort of Vulcan snort of disapproval. "I sincerely doubt that."

"...Actually he said I was wasting my time, because you wouldn't say yes, and then your mother hotly contested." He crawled over until he could draw the sash out of Spock's hands, and wrap it around his neck, drawing him in close. "...Well? What _do_ you say?"

"Jim." Spock smiled, really, honest-to-God smiled, and he let himself be pulled until their noses were touching. "I believe you know the answer to that question already."


End file.
